


We Can't Save Everyone

by HurricaneHannah



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Hit in the feels, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Medical, Non-Canon Relationship, One Shot, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricaneHannah/pseuds/HurricaneHannah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet gave Jolt a sad smile before his helm twisted over to the berth that held the jar-collected, ash-like remains of Ironhide. "We can't save everyone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can't Save Everyone

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on **Fanfiction** & **DeviantART** on September 3rd/2nd, 2011]  
>  \- transpiring not long after events depicted in _Dark of the Moon_  
>  \- Transformers © Hasbro.

" _Ironhide_ ,"  
  
Jolt tried to dampen his audio receptors, the broken strain of a familiar voice made the blue Autobot's frame shiver with a mixture of grief and fear. He did not want to turn from the wall of the medical bay, his back being turned away from the rows of berths helping the denial that was coursing through his circuits.  
  
However, he knew the denial would not last long.  
  
"Wheeljack,"  
  
The innocent metal of the table before him was easily crushed by the digits of his violently shaking servos.  
  
"Arcee, Chromia, Elita,"  
  
The electricity wielding mech's spark was flaring like solar storm, the shock of what was happening behind him freezing his internal systems. He had thought of all mechs, _he_ would have been able to make it through.  
  
"Jazz,"  
  
The younger medic could feel the energon in his tanks painfully turn and settle in a nauseating fashion. With every cycle of his fans, he could feel the struts in his legs giving, now it was only the desk that his digits' were curled into painfully that was keeping the normally calm and collected mech from falling onto the floor in a pitiful heap.  
  
"First Aid,"  
  
That name had Jolt's optics on-lining so fast that the wires crackled behind the delicate glass as visual inputs were coming at different rates too fast for his processor to process.  
  
Flashes of a small red and white Protectobot lying on a berth, his normal bright optics dull with pain and regret burned the blue mech's rapidly repairing sight. The small mech's signature warm and soothing voice replaced with a monotone voice almost equal to that of the Decepticon's communications office as he repeated the designations of his slaughtered gestalt unit, the only emotion that leaked through was when the junior medic had come to their leader's name, _Hot Spot_.  
  
The sorrow and regret that had seeped from that one designation was enough to prove to him and Ratchet that their younger comrade had seen his unit leader as more.  
  
Jolt began to turn around slowly, with each moment his denial was slipping, replaced with his medical training that informed him that this was real; he was going to lose _him_.  
  
The unmoving frame of his mentor and friend, Ratchet, almost wanted to make the medic expel the still turning energon in his main fuel tank as the sight of the white and green mech filled his restored vision.  
  
_The white and green that Ironhide had suggested when the chief medical officer and become tired of his dull lime-colored green._  
  
That thought made Jolt sway slightly before his servos reached back to clamp down onto the table. That coupled with how Ratchet had spoken Ironhide's designation, with _sorrow and regret_ , just like First Aid, proceeded to tell Jolt that it was over, that the machines he had been using to help keep Ratchet online were useless. Ratchet had given up.  
  
Jolt steadied himself as he went to his mentor's side, intent on removing the machines plugged into the Hummer's frame and inner circuitry. They were as useless, as the humans would say, tits on a bull. As he began to disengage the last of the wires, a servo shot out and weakly clamped itself around his wrist.  
  
Jolt's optics snapped down to Ratchet's faceplate, surprised to see his optics brighter and more alert then they had been a nanoclick ago.  
  
"Jolt," the whisper of his name was accompanied by the old mech's grip tightening. "There is something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you and First Aid a long time ago."  
  
The wire Jolt had been holding slipped from his hand onto the ground, forgotten and unimportant. He took Ratchet's servo into the both of his own, squeezing them as a reassurance that he would there and he would listen. "What is it, Ratchet?"  
  
Ratchet gave him a sad smile before his helm twisted over to the berth that held the jar-collected, ash-like remains of Ironhide.  
  
"We can't save everyone."  
  
The white servo went limp, dead weight in Jolt's own shaking ones. The light of his optics flickered twice before shorting completely. His medical scanners blaring at him that Ratchet's spark had extinguished, medical protocols screeching in his head in order to revive him.  
  
He quickly silenced them, Ratchet wouldn't come back, and he didn't want to come back. He had accepted the death of the one he couldn't save and had given up, choosing to follow them into the Matrix.  
  
Deep down, Jolt had known, known that the minute Ratchet had collapsed shortly after retuning from the battle in Chicago that he was losing him. That Ratchet had given up.  
  
The rest seemed to go smoother, like he had been put on autopilot. He noted everything medically relevant down on a datapad which he placed onto the berth next to servo he had held.  
  
Jolt didn't look back as he initiated the protocols for turning off the lights and equipment as well as locking the medical bay, choosing to wander the halls of the slowly-being repaired base instead of heading to his quarters.  
  
It wasn't long before the medic came to a junction and the feeling of being watched forced his downcast optics ahead.  
  
A streak of silver leaning against a wall was registered by his optics before they were met with another set of powerful blues. As the form of the warrior rolled closer, Ratchet's last words painfully echoed through his processor.  
  
_We can't save everyone._  
  
A servo curled around his upper arm plating.  
  
_How long until he couldn't save Sideswipe._  
  
A servo gently placed on his chestplates, above his spark.  
  
_How long until he couldn't save himself._

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this fanfiction came from a contest held by the **TransAuthors** group on **DeviantART**.  
>  Their prompt: _I give you one word as a plot bunny.... **MEDIC!**_


End file.
